


natural resting bitchface

by kormantic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drunken Confessions, M/M, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Scott is made of puppies and sunshine, Stiles wants Derek to doooooo things to him, angst and brohugs, seriously bros 5eva
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-14 01:38:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4545246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kormantic/pseuds/kormantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m kind of having a crisis? Of a sexual nature.”</p><p>“Whoa. Like. Uh. Do you need me to make a condom run?”  Say what you wanted about Scott, but he could be both tactical and practical in a crunch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	natural resting bitchface

“Scott. Scotty boy.”

“You sound… Stiles, are you drunk?”

“Pretty drunk.  Drunk as a skunk. So drunk.  _All_ the drunk.”  His tongue tasted pickled and thick with way too much Jack.

“Do you need me to come get you?” The guy sounded so fucking _fond_. Oh god, Scott was just the best person. In the world.

“I. Uh. Yeah. Yeah, buddy, that would be. Why I’m calling.”

“Where are you?”

“At home.”

Hilariously, Scott lowered his voice and hissed, as if Stiles’ dad _would hear him over the phone_. At work, six miles away. “You’re drunk at your own _house_? Your dad’s gonna ground you until you’re 50.”

“I’m kind of having a crisis? Of a sexual nature.”

“Whoa. Like. Uh. Do you need me to make a condom run?”  Say what you wanted about Scott, but he could be both tactical and practical in a crunch.

“No, more like. Tough talk about poor life choices or something. I dunno. I just need. I need you to tell me my ideas are bad and wrong and… I just need to talk to someone. Okay?”

“Of course! I’ll be there in ten.”

*

He was there in fifteen, but he brought icy-sweet ginger ale and crackers and peanut butter and a semi-gross-yet-simultaneously-delicious 7-11 deli BLT, so a) the room became marginally less spinny and b) Stiles was obliged to grow up to be rich so that he could leave a lot of money to Scott in his will when he died. Which would probably be pretty young if he planned to keep drinking like this and then soaking it up with bacon.

“So what’s up, man?”

“What would you say if I told you I wanted a guy to… If I wanted a guy?”

Scott shrugged.  “I’d ask Lydia to help you pick out some nice date clothes?”

“Okay, yes, you support the people of the non-het persuasion, this is why I love you, but I mean, like, a _specific_ guy.”

Scott smiled at him. “I dunno. Do you want me to pass him a note or something? I could totally talk you up.”

“What if I said it was Derek?”

There was a thoughtful pause, before Scott tilted his head.

“Well. I would say that he’s really, really really, ridiculously good-looking? So I guess it’s not that surprising. If you were into that.”

“Okay, and you know me, right? I give 110% percent, and I am usually all about being, like, high-quality boyfriend material--I want to be there to support and enhance and hold hands and provide all the sweet makeouts, I mean, _so_ many makeouts, but also, you know: conversation, walks in the park, all that shit.”

Scott nods encouragingly.

“That’s what I wanted with Lydia. If Danny ever lost his taste for flat-eyed, cheekboned, musclebound assholes, I would totally step up, right? I would buy him presents, and meet his parents, and be out and motherfuckin’ _proud_  and just, whatever he needed: wash his car, help him move, rub his feet, you know?”

“Rub his _feet_?” Scott squinted.

“Hypothetical, Scott, focus here.”

“Okay. But I’m not seeing a... problem?”

“That’s not what I want with Derek. I want things, I want him to-- to _do_  things to me, dirtybadwrong things. Not fun sexy things. I mean, yes, sex things, _definitely_  sex things--”  Scott flinched a little, but Stiles rolled on, “But I mean. I want him to hold me down and shit. Take a fucking _bite_ out of me.  Not like, _The_  Bite, but I mean with _teeth_ , with--with _intent_. I’m not talking tender lovemaking shit here, I’m talking more like… like _obliteration_.”  Sheer animal carnality, where he could lose himself and not have to fucking _think_.

He was just able to break off before the dam really gave way, where he just chanted every filthy thing he’d thought about: Derek’s hand huge and hot against the back of his skull while he gagged on Derek’s dick, Derek jizzing on his face and rubbing come into his hair, making Derek choke on his own hard-on in turn, fucking Derek with his fingers while Derek begged to come, hyperventilating into the mattress as Derek gripped the back of his neck and just made him _take_ his cock and… just _riding Derek’s cock_. Stiles could feel his eyes glazing and his mouth going slack at the thought and shook his head hard.

Scott was quiet for a moment, eyes soft and sympathetic, but not, thank god, even a little bit judgmental or repulsed.

“Heavy.”

“And let’s not even get started on all the ways that’s shitty and freaky and-- I dunno, lookist or something? Just because he’s hot like the surface of the fucking sun and has a natural resting bitchface, he, what, he can’t have nice things?  There are no candle-lit dinners in these scenarios, Scott, zero formal dances or talks about _feelings_ ,  because I’m casting him in my own weirdo fantasies as some kind of sex-dungeon gigolo. I mean, jesus, it would be kind of amazing if he could get it up for _anyone_ at this point, let alone me. Two girlfriends turn out to be legit psycho killers and people just keep _using_ him,” Scott’s eyes get big and sad and regfretful at that, but Stiles ignores him, “and I’m thinking about him _hurting_ me, and getting off on it. Which, even if I was legal, would be upsetting enough, but in this scenario, even with my personal and enthusiastic consent, he would _literally_ be risking jail time.”

“Stiles,” Scott said cautiously. “Look. This is all… still hypothetical, right? I mean. You two haven’t…”

“No! No, god, no, I am drunk, I _was_  drunk, but I was not _that_  drunk. You were my first call, buddy, I have not yet done anything to impugn his honor or my own, I promise, I’m just. I can’t stop _thinking_ about him, man, it’s worse than it ever was with Lydia, and I don’t know what to _do_ ,” and his voice broke.  “I want him so _bad_ , Scotty, and I feel so fucked-up all the time, the darkness, you know, I know you feel it, but it’s not the same for you. I dunno if it’s because you’re you, or because you’re a werewolf, or because the nogitsune thought I was the sweetest ride and I think it poisoned me, all right? I mean, I think I would hurt whoever I… I would poison them, too, and maybe I just think Derek is a good option because he’s already so fucking _broken_ that I probably couldn’t really make it worse, or that maybe I could balance things somehow, like, Derek could--could, take his frustrations out on me and I’d deserve it, because I hurt you guys, I fucking tried to _gut_ you, dude, I--I _killed_ people, I killed _Allison_ \--”

Scott hugged him so suddenly and so hard he could feel his ribs creak.

“It wasn’t you. It wasn’t you, man, I knew it wasn’t you, I never thought for a minute it was really you. You didn’t smell right and I knew you’d never do that, I knew it was a nightmare, and no one blames you, Stiles, no one, I swear. I swear it.”

He let Stiles cry for a while, and Stiles did his best not to drown in his own snotty tears, and eventually, Scott said, “And come on, sure, you were possessed and tried to stab me and stuff, but I tried to eat you. Like, more than once! I mean it, I totally wanted to chomp on you like a blood and guts pizza, okay? So let’s just call it even-steven, all right?”

“All right, buddy.  Even-steven.”

And he hugged Scott so hard his elbows ached, and Scott let him.

*

Stiles may have dozed a bit -- he still wasn’t sleeping well, and maybe never would again -- but when he woke up, Scott was still hugging him with one arm and playing Jet Pack Joy Ride on his phone with his free hand.

“Hey. Sorry.”

“Nah. No problem. But I was thinking. Maybe you should. Talk to Derek about this. Not, maybe don’t lead with the, um, sex-dungeon stuff, because that stuff sounds a little. Hardcore? But. You could maybe feel him out about what he might want?  Like maybe he hates candlelight or whatever, but he’d be into you giving him a pedicure and brushing his hair.”

Stiles blinked at him, and Scott wrinkled his nose.

“Oh shut up, dude, you know you wanted to do that for Lydia after you saw her in that lingerie that time.”

“Yes, maybe, fine, but that was definitely Lydia-specific.”

“I dunno. Derek’s pretty manscaped. He might really like it, too.”

Stiles had to concede that point. And if they started that way, maybe they could stay on the tender lovemaking side of things -- still with the blowjobs and the anal sex, but the considerate kind, the respectful kind, right? Sure. As long as he was obsessing about something that was never going to happen anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Post-Nogitsune, Stiles is seventeen, and this is purely theoretical. Yup.


End file.
